My Early Life. A true story

winterheart01

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Whilst it would be a big step, have you or your urologist considered a urostomy, or would that be a step too far?
He once did mention a suprapubic catheter yes, but because if the infection hazard from my type 1 diabetes and my reduction of mobility I refused heavily.
I still need to move a lot, i need to go to work, I cannot afford to have an open entry in the abdomen, also then it q=would require a nurse to replace it as that procedure is a bit more complex, right now I can replace indwelling catheters myself just fine, but this too is a temproary workaround untill a better one is given.
 

PCBaby

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We might be talking at cross purposes a urostomy usually involves having a pouch attached externally, similar to a colostomy, so no need for a catheter, Urine drains constantly into the bag and you just empty it when needed.
 

winterheart01

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We might be talking at cross purposes a urostomy usually involves having a pouch attached externally, similar to a colostomy, so no need for a catheter, Urine drains constantly into the bag and you just empty it when needed.
hmm yeah i read about that recently, that is a direct connection with the urethers, but I heard many people complain about the allergic reactions from the adhesive, plus my abdomen already has an IV drip on one side for insulin and a sensor with a 12x10cm tape square flexifix, i don't want any more weirdness involved. I just prefer it flows freely, it's much more practical to change a diaper at work than all this other stuff.
 

PCBaby

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thank you Anima, although because of the PG 13 it was heavily edited.
 

Anima

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thank you Anima, although because of the PG 13 it was heavily edited.
I understand. I imagine that must be quite dissatisfying and frustrating. I personally would not like to have such limits in my own writing, especially with something as personal as this, so I understand that kind of pain.
It has a bit of the kind of 'I'm not right the way I am'- feeling to it, doesn't it? Not to be able to say it all, I mean. Understandable of course, that a too explicit story might not be alright for this audience, but it probably doesn't make it less frustrating for you.
I am assuming of course, so feel free to correct me anytime. I don't mean to offend anyone.
 
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jspoter

playfull as a kit
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pc, im glad to see your life story, it kinda makes sense about your avatar, seing it wasnt by choice, and a true med incont i realy feel for ya, and happy to see you were able to have a "normal" life and bear with the life of incon, proving human will is a powerfull tool,
 

TyphaHare

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What I'm left with the most is thinking how your parents never brought you to a doctor despite your obvious problems?! They thought the cure to the problem was to be mean to you. As if being mean is a cure to congenital diseases.. yep, just yell at that stenosis until it goes away! Sheesh.. they didn't even have an idea because they were just not interested in handling it with kindness.

Thank you for sharing this story.. I am so glad to hear you also got to experience love, care, warmth and affection.
 

winterheart01

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What I'm left with the most is thinking how your parents never brought you to a doctor despite your obvious problems?! They thought the cure to the problem was to be mean to you. As if being mean is a cure to congenital diseases.. yep, just yell at that stenosis until it goes away! Sheesh.. they didn't even have an idea because they were just not interested in handling it with kindness.

Thank you for sharing this story.. I am so glad to hear you also got to experience love, care, warmth and affection.
Unfortunatly, back in those days it was very common that parents were angry at their children, even for little things and things they could not help.
For some it was a lack of understanding and/or lack of money to go to a doctor, for others it was the fear of shame because an older child that was not potty trained yet was a huge embarressment.
In my country in the period during the first and second world war, all that mattered is that the children kept their mouth shut, worked as soon as posible in factories and helped as much as possible in the household.
School or playtime was irrelevant, having your own opinion was forbidden, not coming home with enough wage (if you didn't meet your daily quota for example) was punished usually with a good beating and no food.

Yes, today it is called child abuse, and I honestly wish people were more sensible back then, poverty and wartime aside. But alas, history cannot be undone.
 

NooNoo

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My Early Life. A true story.


I was born on the 2nd May 1955 to Mavis and Donald Clarke, in a city called Bradford (West Yorkshire) in the North of England (UK). My earliest memory is of sitting in a bed sit (very small apartment) with my mum listening to Petula Clark on the radio singing “sailor”. My next memories are probably about 6 months later when we moved to our new house. At that time I was still sleeping in a cot (Crib), and if I became upset I would sometimes bang my head against the side of it. If I did this whilst my father was around, he’d take me out, spank me (on the back of the legs, with his hand), put me back in the cot and then continue his aggression.

This pretty much set the way my dad and I related to another for the rest of his life. I don’t recall potty training at all, but by the time I started infant school (5 years old), I was neither dry nor clean during the day or night. School was equipped to deal with the normal small accidents that children have. The teacher would take us into a corner of the classroom (behind a screen), and have our trousers and underpants removed, and be wiped and put into a clean pair of underpants. What they weren’t equipped for was for someone who couldn’t apparently tell when he needed to go, and would wet and soil himself whenever.

After various attempts by the school to toilet train me, it was felt that the best thing to do, would be to put me back into nappies and rubber pants, and to make sure that the school had a supply, so that I could be changed as and when it was needed. However at home, I think my mum had given up any attempt to train me, and was happy to let me remain in nappies.

When I was 7 years old we moved and I moved into the junior school (7 to 11 yr. old). Mum decided that I couldn’t wear nappies any more (they were getting a bit small and the rubber pants were getting very tight and uncomfortable), so I was sent to junior school in my nice new school uniform.

Things were fine until about 930am on the first morning when I wet myself, it was assumed it was an accident caused by the excitement of a new school and my father was phoned to come and collect me (dad worked night shifts and mum worked day shifts). Dad wasn’t too happy about having his sleep disturbed, and when we got home, I got the inevitable spanking and told it was about time I grew up and starting acting like a boy, not a baby! The following days and weeks at school rapidly became a nightmare, as it became obvious (at least to the teachers), that I was totally incontinent. Mum started sending me to school with a change of trousers and underpants and if I wet myself I was sent to the nurses room, where I was allowed to wash myself and get changed, however if I soiled myself, I was either taken home or my father called to pick me up.

At home things also weren’t getting any better. I was a fairly bright child, loved reading and had a vivid imagination, but this didn’t impress dad, he wanted a son that would go out to play football and cricket, climb trees, ride a bike. All the things I hated. At school I was being teased and bullied more and more (everyone in my year knew I wet and soiled myself), and their favourite game seemed to be pick on Kelvin and make him wet his pants (or worse). The name-calling was horrible and went on day in and day out. I became more and more withdrawn both at school and home. I hated myself for being the way I was, I hated school, and I hated my parents.

At this point I was still wearing nappies and rubbers to bed, but when I was about 8, mum decide to try and get me to be clean at night. Her version of toilet training was to take me to the toilet before I went to bed, (she literally sat me on it and then waited whilst I performed for her), then put me to bed, (about 8pm). She would then come in when she went to bed and if I was dry, would take me back to the bathroom and repeat the process), this worked, however after about 10 or 11pm, she wouldn’t come back into my bedroom until morning, by which time I was always wet and quite often soiled as well. This would get me yelled at, bathed (sometimes in cold water), and then spanked.

When mum spanked me, I was invariable naked and put over her knee. Although apart from once, she always used her hand. (The time she didn’t use her hand has nothing to do with this story). At this stage If I came home from school either wet or soiled mum took to standing me on sheets of newspaper and undressing me at arm’s length, all the while telling me how bad I was, what a dirty little boy I was and how lazy I was and generally making me feel about 2 inches high and 2 years old.

Over the next year nothing improved, and mum went from spanking me, to rubbing my face in wet sheets, to leaving the wet/soiled sheets on the bed and making me sleep in them the next night. When I came in from school I was made to undress, I then had to put my Pajama top on and just wear underpants underneath.


During all this time if we went to friends or relatives I was still put in nappies and rubbers, although my mum had made my nappies bigger (she was a seamstress), the rubber pants were now even tighter, and used to cut right in to my waist and thighs). This also meant that unless my nappy leaked none of the family was aware I had a problem, on the odd occasion they did leak; they were told I had a weak bladder and couldn’t help it.

My dad was also getting increasingly annoyed by my marked lack of typical boy hobbies and pursuits and would start teasing me about being a girl, this unfortunately started to escalate after we had gone to some of my parent’s friends and dad caught me playing with their daughters and their dolls. He convinced himself that I would never be the son he wanted.


This pattern went on for about 4 years until I was 12 and a half. By this time I was at senior school and mum and dad owned a small shop (although dad still worked nights), I was allowed to baby-sit for my younger cousins once a week, and although I had to go in nappies and rubbers at least it was a change. One Saturday evening I got a phone call from my dad’s sister (Aunty Kath), asking if I could go over and baby sit her 4 youngest as she and my Uncle Alf had been invited out and her eldest son Dennis had made plans to go out with his girlfriend. I checked with my mum and dad, and although we made arrangements to go see my Nan, they said I could go. Kath knew I wet the bed, but didn't at that point know about anything else.

I got home about 1030pm that night. My parents weren’t home, but I knew if they were playing cards that they could be late. However by about midnight they still hadn’t arrived and I was beginning to worry a little bit, so phoned my Nan, who said they had left, but they were going to see some other friends that lived nearby. I stayed up to wait for them, as the shop alarm was on and they normally knocked on the door, so I could switch the alarm off before they came in. At about 130am there was a knock on the door but instead of my parents it was a police Sergeant and a police constable there. When I let them in, they asked me if I recognised a driver’s license (it was my dad’s). They then told me that both my parents had been killed by a drunk driver whilst coming home that night.

I couldn’t believe what I was being told, but the sergeant kept talking to me, and asking me if I had any relatives I could stay with. I eventually managed to give them the telephone number of my Aunty Kath, and they phoned her and then took me to her house. Aunty Kath said I could stay with her until things were sorted out, and sent me off to bed. I got undressed and without thinking about it got into bed and went to sleep.

The next morning I was almost swimming in a very wet and cold bed, went to the bathroom and got washed then got dressed and went downstairs. Her entire family were down there, 3 boys and two girls, and despite being very embarrassed I manage to tell her I had wet the bed. She wasn’t really surprised and told me not to worry, she would sort it out.

The rest of that Sunday is really a bit of a blur, mom’s family was called and told the news, and both families decided that there should be a joint family meeting to decide what should happen to me. I can remember that during the morning I wet myself and soiled myself at least once, and although Aunty Kath wasn’t happy about it. She just made sure I got cleaned up properly and had clean clothes to wear. (Aunt Kath had a son a year younger than me who had Poliomyelitis) he could only move his head and one hand, had no bladder or bowel control at all and was still in nappies and rubbers).

Before the big meeting I was wet again and Aunty Kath suggested that it might be an Idea if a, she made an appointment with a doctor for me, as my “weak bladder” seemed to be getting worse, and that b, perhaps I should borrow some of Anthony’s things (nappies and rubbers) to protect my clothes.

At this point I wasn’t really in any fit state to object to anything and let her put them on me. I also admitted that I usually wet the bed every night, and she told me not to worry, because mum had told her I did and I could borrow more of Anthony’s things if I needed them. The rest of the families eventually arrived and it was decided that I would stay with Uncle Alf and Aunty Kath until at least after the funeral. It was also decided that Aunty Kath and my mom’s sister (Aunty Ann) would take me back to our shop and house, get some clothes for me, and make sure the shop was secure.

Whilst Ann was putting up the security grilles and sorting out some of the more important documents, Aunty Kath and I packed up my clothes. Aunty Kath noticed the nappies and rubbers and asked me about them, so I told her my mum made me wear them at night to protect the bed. She didn’t say anything but she did pack them up to take with us.

The next week really was a blur, I can remember different relatives coming to see me, and talking to me, but I think I was in a fairly deep state of shock. I was still wetting and soiling myself on a regular basis, but Aunty Kath seemed to take it in her stride, she decide that I should go back into nappies full time, as I would be more comfortable, and If I needed help I was to ask as she had changed me when I was a baby, had three boys of her own and still changed one of them. This was so different to the way I was treated at home, non-of my cousins teased me about my problem and they just assumed I was like their brother.

Usually I tried to change myself, although my nappy folding and fastening left a lot to be desired and I almost always leaked. Aunt Kath didn’t tell me off for this, just made it obvious she was there if I needed help, after one bad day of heavy soiling; I asked her if she would change me. She said yes, and said that she would take me into the bathroom instead of doing it in the front room (she normally changed Anthony wherever he was), the downstairs bathroom was adapted for Anthony, it had a large bath, a built in table with padding on it and several built in cupboards.

Aunty Kath said she would be back in a minute and asked me to get undressed but to leave my nappy and rubbers on until she came back. I did as I was told and she came back in a few minutes. Whilst I was standing there she started to run a bath, explaining that she wanted to bath me to make sure I was really clean as she didn’t want me getting nappy rash (neither did I, I had it most of the time, and I know why babies cry!).

She had me lie down on the table, removed my rubber pants and then a very badly soiled nappy, whilst my bottom (bum) was off the table she used a clean part of the nappy to wipe most of my bum clean, and then used a wet soapy cloth to make sure I was properly clean. Having done that, (she put the nappy and rubbers in with Anthony’s soiled stuff), she told me to get into the bath and wash myself and to call her when I was finished.

I must have spent a while in there because there was a discreet knock at the door and she came back in, helped me wash my hair (well, She washed and I moved my head when she told me to). After the bath she dried my hair and back and then asked me to lie on the table again.

Whilst I did that she got out a nappy and what looked like a babies nappy, she also got a pair of Anthony’s rubbers out as they were bigger than mine, as well as pins and a tub of Vaseline. She asked me to raise my bum and slid the larger nappy underneath me, she then very gently covered my backside in Vaseline and telling me to lie still did the same for my front, especially the creases.

She then folded the babies nappy and placed it over me genitals, explaining that they were old nappies that she used on the other children when they were babies, and that if I wet as much as Anthony did, it would help soak up the wee and be more comfortable for me. She then finished putting the nappy on and pinning it, she then pulled the rubber pants over my feet and up above my knees, and then asked me to stand whilst she made sure the nappy was properly tucked in.

She then left and told me to get dressed and come into the kitchen, as she wanted to talk to me in private. When I went into the kitchen she had made a cup of milky coffee and gave it to me. She wanted to know how I was feeling and that if I wanted to talk about my mum and dad I could. She also wanted to know how long I had been having problems, as apart from the bed wetting my mum had never mentioned it. It was a very long and difficult conversation.

I didn’t talk about the abuse as I didn’t feel able to (and wasn’t really able to until I was in my 30’s). At the end of the conversation we decided that it would be best if I stayed dressed as I was, that I could use the downstairs bathroom, that if I felt I needed to use the toilet to go, and then tell her and she would re-pin my nappy, or of I used my nappy to tell her and she would change me. During that week I don’t think I made it to the toilet once (I did try, if only to try to please my Aunty), but true to her word Aunty Kath changed me as soon as I said I needed it, although by the end of the week, if Anthony had his nappy checked by his mum or his Sisters then I tended to get mine checked too.

Neither of the girls was allowed to change the nappies, but they could tell their mum if one or both of us needed changing. Also by the end of that week I was being changed whether I was in the front room, bedroom or bathroom. I was just accepted as me, and treated exactly the same as the rest of the family.

Looking back over the years, I think it was that acceptance and the way my Aunty Kath dealt with my problem that actually started what has been a very slow healing process. She didn’t make me feel small or little or odd or dirty, she just accepted me, and whilst she would occasionally tease me about my nappies (normally during a change), it was fun teasing. I would also like to add that despite my age (13) and despite the very intimate contact involved during changes there were no sexual feelings at all, it was just warm and loving.

However, after the funeral there was yet another big family meeting (well more like all out war). There had been rows before the funeral. Dad’s families were strict Roman Catholics. Mom’s side was Kirk (Church of Scotland). There been arguments over whether they should be cremated or buried, should there be crucifixes on one coffin, both or none. Who was going to get what from the shop and property and insurance etc. and as an aside, who was going to have me!

Aunty Kath and Uncle Alf felt that I had already settled with them, and they would either formally adopt me, or I could stay with them until I decided otherwise, however my mom’s family decided that if one of them couldn’t take me (and the money I had inherited, not much about £6000 then about £30000 now ($65000)) they would take legal action and put me in care.

Eventually some one thought to ask me what I wanted and I said I wanted to stay with Kath and Alf, I had settled down and Alf was going to start me on as his apprentice (he owned a painting and decorating business and had a lot of the local council contracts), so money wasn't an issue and there was a spare bed in Paul's bedroom plus an empty room if I needed privacy later on. I assumed that, that had settled it, but about a week later I was told I was going to move in with my Nana (Mum's Mum), that lasted about 3 nights of wet beds and Nana decided she couldn't cope. I know Nana was outraged when I asked if she was going to change me like Aunty Kath did, she told the other members of mum’s family and I later learnt that Aunty Ann (mum’s sister) had turned up at Kath's, and had a massive row, accusing Kath of child abuse and all sorts. In the meantime I was moved in with Barry and Christine (Mum’s youngest brother) who had a 2 month old baby and that didn't work out either as Christine couldn't cope with the wetting and soiling. Eventually I ended up back at Aunty Kath's which is why I assumed I would be staying there. One day Aunty Ann and Uncle Roger turned up, told Kath they were going back home but wanted to take me out and treat me and get me some new clothes. Once I was in the car I was taken not into Bradford, but to Bridgenorth. I didn't see Aunty Kath or my cousins for nearly three years, by which time Anthony had died. I have never forgiven Ann and Roger for that.

My Uncle Roger was stationed at a Royal Air Force base about 300 miles from where I lived, the journey down was awful, I was silently miserable all the way, refusing to talk accept to say I wanted to go back, and being told that I was an ungrateful child and didn’t I realise how much they were putting themselves out. When we eventually arrived at the base I was soaked, soiled, angry, upset and hungry all at the same time, but most of all I needed a change.

I told my Aunty Ann that I needed one, and was told that she would do it this time. But that I had to be a big boy and use the toilet, just like her two fair haired little wonders did (not her words, I came to hate Simon and John with an unbelievable intensity. They were both younger than I was, and I was supposed to grow up to be like them).

She took me into the kitchen, stood me on a newspaper, put on rubber gloves and literally stripped me. Piece of clothing by piece of clothing until I was naked and in tears (definition of Nude and Naked, nude is not wearing clothes. Naked means defenseless). I was back to being made to feel about two inches tall and two years old again, she then literally scrubbed me top to bottom in the kitchen and then gave me a pair of Simon’s pajamas (pj’s) to put on, until “she could buy some clothes for me”, I did ask if she was going to put another nappy on and was told “I didn’t need them, I was a big boy.”

Well, it was a case of easier said than done, I wasn’t a big boy, I was wetting 5 or 6 times a day and every night and soiling usually about once every two days and sometimes at night as well. It was just like being at home again the only difference was that I had two younger cousins who took great delight in informing their mother every time I had an accident and taking every opportunity to make fun of me and to ridicule me to their friends.

I stayed with them for about 12 days of pure hell. By the end of them just about everyone on the airbase knew about Ann & Roger and their problem nephew, including Rogers Commanding Officer. It was pointed out that if Roger couldn’t solve his family problems then his promotions and postings might be delayed until he could. Two weeks later I was in front of a court and being placed in childcare, the stated reason being that they felt they couldn’t give me the stability I needed because of Rogers frequent Postings (what a load of Bull!!!!). So I was placed in a children’s home in a small town called Wellington in Shropshire, miles away from anyone I knew or cared about.

February 1970, I had just been placed in a children’s home in Wellington, Shropshire (UK). Having had a fairly traumatic and eventful 3 months or so, I was not really prepared to be thrust into a house with about 16 other children and anywhere up to 8 adults.

My wetting and soiling hadn’t improved at all, and the only family that had accepted me for me was a long way away. My court appointed social worker (Mike) drove me from the court in Bridgenorth to the home. He was quite chatty on the short journey, telling me what I could expect when I got there, I wasn’t really listening, I’d lost my parents, my home, my one set of relatives that seemed to care for me, and the set of relatives that couldn’t wait to get rid of me.

We arrived at the children’s home (Highfield House) about 4pm and I was introduced to the Matron, Aunty Joan (I should explain that all the staff was either Aunty or Uncle but none of them were relations). That was my first shock, Joan was a somewhat plump lady but more to my surprise her and her Husband, Harry (the superintendent of the home) came from Bingley, which is about 6 or 7 miles from where I was born and raised.

Joan asked me a few basic questions, showed me where I would be sleeping (with 7 other boys), asked me if I wore vests (under-shirt) and then told me to say goodbye to Mike as it was tea-time. This I did, and Joan then took me through to the dining room, I was introduced to another member of staff (Aunty Helen) and sat at a table with 5 other children all my age or younger, I can’t honestly remember what we ate that night, but I can remember being bombarded with questions about who I was, where was I from, why was I there, I tried to explain, but rapidly got tongue tied as I wasn’t used to dealing with so many people at once.

Normally after tea various jobs (chores) had to be done by everyone, but because I was new, I was taken to the quite room (a room for reading or listening to the radio or watching TV) by Helen for a talk about me, and the home and a general tour so I could find my bedroom, the bathroom, toilets etc. Whilst we were upstairs she suggested it would be a good idea if we put my clothes away (we all had our own wardrobes and drawers), it was while we were doing this I wet myself. Helen noticed and asked if I had a problem, but before I could answer she explained that there were 2 or 3 others at the home (1 boy and 2 girls) that had a bed wetting problem and that David also wet during the day. I denied having a problem, despite the obvious evidence and Helen again asked if I was sure.

I again denied that I had a problem and Helen seemed satisfied, she did however tell me I would have to have a supervised bath and have my hair washed, (it was a hygiene check, as well as a check for bruises etc., but I didn’t know that at the time. All new arrivals had it done). So she took me to the bathroom and started running a bath, at the same time as telling me to undress. I was very embarrassed, as apart from family I hadn’t undressed in front of a woman for a long time.

When I was in the bath, Helen took my clothes for wash; she also said all my clothes would be marked with my name so they wouldn’t get mixed up with anyone else’s. When Helen came back, she started to wash me, when I complained, she explained that everybody had to be bathed by a staff member on their first night, and I had arrived on a night when there were no male staff members available. (There was always at least one female member of staff on duty).

She finished washing me and then washed my hair (which I actually enjoyed), she then left me to get myself dry, whilst she went to sort out some clean clothes and a set of pyjamas for me for later. When I went back to the bedroom, wrapped in a bath towel, Helen was just remaking my bed, when I asked her why she said that as I had, had a little accident she had put a rubber sheet on the bed just in case I had an accident while I was sleeping.

She also explained about my bedtime (915pm) and explained that as I got older my bedtime would get later, If I wanted to read in bed there was a 15 minute limit before lights out, but I could go to bed early and read until my normal lights out time if I wanted to. She also told me that as I had had a bath that I could go downstairs in my pj’s and a dressing gown (which she gave me) or get dressed. I chose to get dressed, as I was still feeling very uncomfortable. I went down and sat in the quite room and then found a book to read so decided to go back upstairs to bed to read. So passed the first evening at Highfield House.

Highfield used to be a private house, there were numerous bedrooms for staff as well as the children. There was also a large paddock with swings, a see saw, sand pit, a log cabin (child sized) and several climbable trees. There were then three main dormitories and a small single room, I was in the big boys bedroom (that’s what is was called) which had 8 boys ranging in age from 10 to 13 (me), there was bedroom with 4 beds from age 9 down to about 3 (little David – we had two David’s) and the girls bedroom which had six beds but only 4 were in use then (all the girls regardless of age went in here).

I think I fell asleep fairly early that night, I can remember Joan coming up and switching my light off, and not much else until about 2pm when I woke up crying in a very wet bed, I‘d had a bad dream or nightmare and had been shouting in my sleep so one of the boys had gone to get a member of staff up.

Helen came into the bedroom in her night dress and night gown and sat with me whilst I calmed down, she also noticed that I had wet the bed, so sent me off for a bath, whilst she changed my bed, (fortunately because of the plastic sheet, it was just the sheets and not the mattress, by the time I had cleaned myself up I was a little calmer, and went back into the bedroom. Helen stayed with for what seemed like an age, but was probably only 15 or 20 minutes, just talking to me and touching my head or hand as she did, she also told me that if I woke up wet, that I was to have a bath before breakfast and take all my wet things down to the laundry room, and that a staff member would make my bed up for me.

Just before she left Helen tucked me in and said goodnight and made sure the other boys had settled. Needless to say the next morning I needed a bath, and then had to make what seemed like a long walk to the laundry room with wet sheets and blankets and pj’s, expecting to be told off or punished as well as expecting to be teased by the other kids.

The kids didn’t bat an eyelid, and when I got to the laundry room it was obvious that at least two other people had woke up wet, although one of them wore nappies. Helen and Joan were both on duty that morning (when I first went to Highfield we didn’t have a cook so the staff made the meals). Breakfast was cereal, cold milk, scrambled egg on toast, toast or bread and marmalade and tea. (Most breakfast’s were similar, but did change on a day to day to basis, as did the other meals).

I was again sat at the same table, so at least I knew some of the faces. After breakfast there were the normal chores to be done, then most of the children left for various local schools. I was told to go and wait outside the office and that I would be seen in a few minutes. At this point I assumed I was going to be punished for wetting the bed, and waited nervously outside the office for about 10 minutes. Eventually the door opened and I was faced by a man who introduced himself as Harry, he invited me in and asked me to sit down, instead of the punishment I was expecting he wanted to talk about me, explain some of the rules of the home, explained about pocket money and things like that.

Then out of the blue he asked me about my bed wetting, explaining that if I did have a problem they needed to be aware so that they could help me, especially as the home were due to go holiday shortly, and needed to know who could have sleeping bags and who couldn’t (bed wetter’s didn’t get sleeping bags).

It was the matter of fact way that he dealt with it that led me to admit that I did have a little problem, but my Aunty Ann had considered it dirty and wrong. Harry explained that the home was run as much as possible as a family, with everyone helping and that there were two or three children that had problems and that nobody teased them and that neither were they punished, for my part, I had to take my laundry down, make sure I had a bath, and if I needed any help to ask a member of staff.

I still hadn’t admitted that I had daytime problems as well. Harry also spoke to me about school and asked me if I wanted to go to a local school, as I wanted to go to catering college I agreed and Harry said he would make an appointment with the headmaster later.

I was then told to go to the dining room and find Helen or Joan and see if they had any jobs for me. As I was walking to the dining room I wet and soiled myself, the first thing I did was to burst into tears; the second thing I did was to panic. I ran through the kitchen, out into the paddock and into the log cabin, it was dark and I didn’t think I would be found, at that point in my life I really felt alone and betrayed, I felt I was worthless and different and seriously thought about killing myself, whilst all these thoughts were going through my head I became aware of voices calling my name, instead of answering I tried to curl up into an even smaller ball, and started sucking my thumb (something I still do today if I am very tired).

After about 5 minutes Helen found me, and came into the log cabin to get me, I tried to push her off, but just ended up crying more and more uncontrollably and sobbing almost hysterically, she left me for a few minutes, I think to say she had found me, then came back into the log cabin with a blanket, which she slowly wrapped around me, and then just held onto me, telling me to hush and that everything would be all right. After I had calmed down she unwrapped the blanket from around me, took my hand and led me back to the house.


Once we got there, she took me upstairs to the bathroom, undressed me and then proceeded to start to wash me, I just stood there, still softly sobbing, whilst she was cleaning me up she talked about the other children who had problems and that they were used to dealing with all sorts of things and that it didn’t matter, but that I mustn’t be a silly child and try to run away as that worried the staff. She also told me (again) that if I did have a problem or an accident I just needed to let a member of staff know, and that they would try to help me. She then questioned me about my bed wetting and wanted to know how long I had been having day time accidents, “had it started after my parents were killed?”

I don’t know what it was, I know that I got this strange feeling of what can best be described as mother love from Helen and slowly and stumblingly the entire story came out, how I had always wet and soiled myself, but that I was told I would grow out of it, but at nearly 14 it didn’t look as if it would.

Helen explained that she would have to tell Joan and Harry about what I had said, and that I shouldn’t worry, as they wouldn’t be angry. She then ran a bath for me and told me to have a bath whilst she went downstairs. She came back about 15 minutes later and left a pair of pj’s and a dressing gown for me and told me to put them on when I had finished and then come down to the quite room. Once I was dressed I went downstairs to find both Helen and Joan in the quite room waiting for me. Helen explained that she had told Joan about my problem and they both wanted to talk to me about it, and about what they could do to help.

That little talk lasted about an hour and a half, they explained simply that I couldn’t be allowed to wet or soil my clothes and myself especially as I was going back to school. They also explained that as we would be going on holiday soon they had to decide if I could be taken or would have to be transferred to another home for a little while.

At that point I started crying again, and explained that I didn’t want to go somewhere else, that I wanted to stay here. They explained that if I really wanted to stay I would have to let them help me. I would also have to trust them to know what was best for me. Joan then left the room saying she would be back in a few minutes. Helen explained that she was going to be my key worker (basically my ‘special’ member of staff, who I could go to at any time for a chat or if I was upset or angry or if I had an accident, this also meant whilst Helen was off duty (providing she was in the house).

At that point Joan came back into the room and passed me a box and asked me to look in it, and try not to be upset. What was in the box was a large nappy and an even larger pair of what looked like rubber pants (actually Vinyl). I started crying again, saying that I wasn’t a baby. Helen and Joan both assured me that they knew I wasn’t, but they also knew that I was a teenager with problems and that this could help me either get over them or cope with them.

They also told me that there were two others in the home who wore nappies and pants, little David was one of them (the three year old) and the other was Denise (Dizzy), who was only a year younger than I was. They went on to explain that if I agreed, initially I would have to go to a member of staff to be changed, but as I learnt to do it myself properly, that would stop, and I would do everything for myself.

Eventually I agreed to a trial period. Helen suggested that we start straight away and asked me to go to my bedroom and wait for her. When she came up she brought a supply of nappies, pins, talc and cream as well as a few pairs of the vinyl pants. She explained that the nappies and other things would be kept in a separate cupboard that I would have a key for, so that when I started to change myself I could get things out as and when I needed them.

She then asked me to undress and to lie down on my bed, which I slowly did, trying not to let her see my genitals(some hope), she asked me to lift my bottom (bum) up and slipped the nappy underneath me, she then asked if I preferred cream or talc, I said that I didn’t know but that my Aunty Kath used cream on me, so Helen carefully creamed what she called “my important little places” (a phrase I still use today), she also pointed out that I was obviously starting to grow up as I had some hair (I went bright red at this), but that I might want to think about shaving it off to make nappy changes easier, whilst she was doing all this she finished creaming me and started to explain what she was doing so that I could learn to do it for myself.

Once she had fastened the nappy she asked me to get up, and then helped me step into the pants, she let me pull them up myself but then spent a few minutes making sure the nappy was tucked in, whilst telling me how important it was and why. She then suggested that I go to bed until dinnertime, as it had been a busy morning. I did and to my surprise fell asleep. Joan came to wake me up and also asked me if I need a change, I said I didn’t think so, but couldn’t really tell, so Joan asked me to stand up and slipped a couple of fingers just inside my nappy, and then told me I was OK and to get dressed and to come down to dinner.

Dinner was a quite affair with Joan, Harry, Helen, myself and a member of staff I had not met before called Stan. Conversation was fairly limited as I was very aware of what I was wearing and didn’t want either of the two men to know (They did!). Harry told me that I would be seeing the headmaster tomorrow for an interview and not to worry as I would be in the same class as Dizzy and there wouldn’t be a problem, that slightly reassured me but also upset me as it meant at least Harry knew what I was wearing, and at that point in my life the male role models I had, had, hadn’t been very good.

I could go on at great length about my time at Highfield, in many respects it was one of the happiest times in my life. It wasn’t all good, I can remember on holiday where one of the kids had dared me not to wear my nappy. We went out in our minibus to a fairground, on the way I wet myself and soiled myself, and the bus seat, Joan was furious and decided if I wanted to behave like a silly little boy, she would treat like one.

When we went away it was usual for the younger kids to be allocated to a female member of staff, who made sure they drank, ate, went to the toilet, didn’t get into mischief etc. I got allocated to Joan. Of course we didn’t have any spare clothes on the bus (well not for me anyway, we did have for Little David and a young girl called Caroline who also wet herself, fortunately I had on a fairly long t shirt.

Joan put me in a nappy and a pair of pants and then treated me exactly as she treated David for the rest of the day. I did eventually learn to put a nappy on myself that didn’t either fall on the floor when I stood up or leaked everywhere, but occasionally, especially if I was feeling a bit down I would go to my Aunty Helen and ask her to change me, she always did, and was always gentle,

After that first summer at Highfield it was obvious that whatever was happening with me, that I wasn’t going to stop wetting and soiling ( the Psychiatrist I had been seeing told them it was probably a simple form of regression caused by all the trauma and in a few months I'd revert back to 'normal'). So it was decided I needed to be seen by the homes GP, I'd already met him, as all the kids all had medicals within the first few weeks of arriving). He did a very simple but embarrassing and frightening test and referred me to a hospital consultant; they did yet more frightening and painful tests and referred me to yet another consultant who did different and frightening tests. The result of all this was surgery. They had found that I had a congenital problem and that I wasn't receiving any of the normal signals that tell your body you need to go, so my body was voiding when it needed to. They also found some damage that could only have been caused by some form of trauma or abuse (that eventually led me to be in a psychiatric ward on suicide watch). The first round of surgery was on my colon and with a lot of help from physio’s in hospital and even more help and patience from Helen and other staff I stopped soiling during the day within about 8 weeks and at night after about 12 weeks. The 2nd round of surgery was on my urethra and bladder but wasn't successful, it actually made the urinary incontinence worse as it left me with a permanent dribble. So I had to have more surgery once that healed, that was a lot more successful but left me with urge incontinence, basically once I feel I need to wee, I need to find a toilet very quickly. However the last 10 years has seen that become more of a problem due to other health matters and following a recent reassessment it looks like I shall have to go back to wearing nappies instead of the pads I have been using (that’s the clothes problem I was referring to).

I still see Helen occasionally; she still lives in Wellington as does my wife’s parents. We talk about the old times and things we did, and catch up on what different kids are doing now (we are all grown up). Helen is now married and has three boys of her own, but I still get that motherly caring feeling off her. She was very much a mother to me, as Harry became a true Father figure to me. When he died I lost a very good and dear friend.

Highfield was very good for me it completed something that my Aunty Kath had started the first time she lovingly put me in a nappy, I realised that it wasn’t wrong or dirty, that I was normal, but more importantly that I could be accepted as me, problems and all, Aunty Kath, Helen, and the other staff at Highfield gave me the love and support that I should have got from my parents.
Hi PCBaby. I just read your story and was very touched. I think it’s a very brave thing to have done setting it down like that. I’m glad there were some beautiful people to eventually support you. Thanks for sharing.
 

GRUMPY1962

Contributor
Messages
92
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Diaper Lover
I recognise that. After my first TURP (prostate resection) in 2005 I had a heavily scarred bladder neck, but instead of incontinence it caused serious retention. The doctor wouldn't believe I had ongoing issues and was furious I had to use a catheter again, he threw me out and sent me to his successor. He did a cystoscopy and couldn't even get through with this camera so immediate surgery was required, 6 months after that TURP.
So my first thought when I read your scarring was retention instead of incontinence, unless the doctor mean overflow incontinence which happens when you are unable to void and literally dribble-leak (overflow) the excess.
15 years after all this mess and 9 surgeries later I am again using catheters because I can still not empty the bladder completely, they now want me to use intermittent catheterisation but I refused because that hurts a lot, I have a lot of urethral scar tissue. So I need to discuss next steps at the end ofthis year with my doctor, but they already branded me for being stubborn, not listening to doctors advice and deciding his own treatment, but they basically said they couldn't give me any other treatment than the latest botox that didn't do a thing :s

I'm not the only one in this situation, and went to like 5 urologists already, and mentally I am broken now, I'd much rather have little control than this pain of not being able to go and when I do it's only half the job.

More on the subject of your story though, my mother told me stories of 40 years ago when she worked in nursing homes and hospitals, back then a lot of patients (most of them) had indwelling catheters, pure natural latex ones which caused a lot of allergies and infections. They idn't care about that though and those places were ruled by the Nuns and they decided to leave the catheters in for months, instead of using cloth diapers.
They didn't use rubber bed sheets , cloth diapers or rubber pants, they only tried to tie urinals with sheets to male patients but when they moved this system failed of course.
A lot of them had serious UTI's and died too early, she even described some of the nuns doing terrible things to patients such as inserting very thick catheters too fast, patients screaming in pain and agony, lubricant did not exist and vaseline was not always used then.
So in a way it is good to hear that on the other side of the river things went differently back then, even though the target age is completely different but still.
(( I have had MULTIPLE BLADDER NECK surgeries,including ONE to remove A CANCER that I was not TOLD ABOUT. My DR issued me catheters and sterile lube to use should the need arises. most of the time with me its the scar tissue that causes problems or the prostate does. then they have to go in and OPEN UP the channel so that i can pee again. ))
 

GRUMPY1962

Contributor
Messages
92
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Diaper Lover
He once did mention a suprapubic catheter yes, but because if the infection hazard from my type 1 diabetes and my reduction of mobility I refused heavily.
I still need to move a lot, i need to go to work, I cannot afford to have an open entry in the abdomen, also then it q=would require a nurse to replace it as that procedure is a bit more complex, right now I can replace indwelling catheters myself just fine, but this too is a temproary workaround untill a better one is given.
((( THEY do make ones that are EXTERNAL ONES,they go over the penis head.ask your MD about it.)))
 

Khaymen

Biker
Est. Contributor
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1,870
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Diaper Lover, Other
The Children's home were brilliant as I said they carried on the work that my Aunty Kath started
I don't understand. Why would you be kept in a home if you had family willing to take you in?
 

winterheart01

Est. Contributor
Messages
452
Age
36
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Adult Baby, Diaper Lover, Babyfur, Diaperfur, Incontinent
((( THEY do make ones that are EXTERNAL ONES,they go over the penis head.ask your MD about it.)))
Since those external ones are condom catheters and I suffered from detrusor sphincter dyssynergia either Foley or intermittent catheters were possible. I was granted the third option for a partial sphincterectomy later on elsewhere and no longer suffer from my problems, so far catheters are far in the past for me now.
 

winterheart01

Est. Contributor
Messages
452
Age
36
Role
Adult Baby, Diaper Lover, Babyfur, Diaperfur, Incontinent
(( I have had MULTIPLE BLADDER NECK surgeries,including ONE to remove A CANCER that I was not TOLD ABOUT. My DR issued me catheters and sterile lube to use should the need arises. most of the time with me its the scar tissue that causes problems or the prostate does. then they have to go in and OPEN UP the channel so that i can pee again. ))
After 3 bladder neck resections in total and 8 urethrotomies things are stable and no further surgery was needed there with me.
 

PCBaby

Est. Contributor
Messages
3,462
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Adult Baby, Little, Incontinent
I don't understand. Why would you be kept in a home if you had family willing to take you in?
Because there was my fathers Family (Aunty Kath) and my Mother's family (Aunty Ann) the problem was my mum and dad owned a shop and whoever got me got access to the cash from the sale of the shop (about £500 then worth about £50k now). also my mum had never been honest about my double incontinence. aunty Kath could cope with it as she had a disabled son, only slightly younger than myself who was also doubly incontinent. Aunty Ann couldn't cope with it at all which is the reason they had mr put in care and the money was put into a trust fund by order of the court.
 
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